


Way Back Home

by WhenStarsLie



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Child Robin, Chrobin - Freeform, F/M, Female My Unit | Reflet | Robin, Grima lives, Post-Game(s), Resurrected Grima, male grima, will add more tags as the story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26457844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhenStarsLie/pseuds/WhenStarsLie
Summary: He was given a second chance by the human he once tormented. Now, it is his turn to return the favor.
Relationships: Chrom/My Unit | Reflet | Robin, Gimurei | Grima & My Unit | Reflet | Robin, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44
Collections: Shepherds' Barracks Roster





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In this story, Grima is identified as male. His actual gender is independent to female Robin and only appeared as female because of his human vessel. Reincarnated Grima looks like male Robin, except that he has longer hair and manakete features, basically passing off as female Robin’s twin.

_Light._

That was how he felt as the last fragments of his consciousness left him. He was falling into oblivion with no means of return – not those foolish Grimleal nor his imperfect vessel. He might have won in the future past, had seized the destruction of his archnemesis, but here…he will soon become a fairytale – a mere story told and altered to scare little humans to submission. Naga could celebrate all she wants or even that little princeling, but the last laugh is all _his_. A war is always paid in blood - the blood of one most precious to all of them. Their debt has been paid and there is _no_ going back.

“El…pis…”

A gasp tore open his mouth and his hands blindly reached for something in the air. His eyes fluttered open as his chest heaved. His lungs felt like lead, as if he were drowning for too long. There was a rustle to his right and gentle footsteps approached him. A bowl was set down on the table beside him and a woman’s face peered at him.

“You’re finally awake…”

He blinked at her. His eyes adjusting to the blinding sunlight peeking through the sole window. The woman was at her late sixties, with greying hair tied in a bun and wearing a worn sundress that has seen better days. She hobbled to his bedside using a misshapen crutch and helped him sit. The bed squeaking beneath him as he followed her guidance.

The young man winced visibly as his sore limbs creaked in protest. She passed him a glass of water with a wizened hand and told him to drink which the man reluctantly followed. He eyed her as she pulled an old stool and settled next to the bed. “My name is Lillian.” She said. Her voice gruff with old age. “A few men in town found you and a child washed up on the shores just south from here. Do you remember anything?” Her eyes searched his face with unmistakable acuity. “Your name…what is your name?”

“My name…” The young man murmured. _My name is Grima._ He wanted to say, but there was a throb in his head, as if a voice at the back of his mind was telling him not to. He frowned and the woman mistook it for confusion.

“That child called you Elpis.” Lillian told him. “And from the looks of it, both of you are not from around here.”

“Where is here?” He asked. His throat rough from disuse. _How long is he gone?_ “Where am I?”

“Ylisse.” Lillian answered as she gently pried the glass off from his stiff fingers and placed in on the table. “Southernmost of the halidom. We don’t have many visitors on our shores, much less washed-up folks from sunken ships. I assume you’re from Valm, yes?”

 _No._ He wanted to say, but he winced at the persistent throbbing in his head. “I do not remember.” He lied.

“Hmmm…” The old woman watched him quietly. “I heard the same thing before. The folks called it amnesia. They said that the late queen had it and never recovered.” She leaned her weight on her crutch and stood up with difficulty. “In any case, I suggest you still rest. I believe that much water in your chest doesn’t do any good to your head.”

She hobbled toward the door, pausing only to glance at him. “I will bring that child over next time. Perhaps, that will jog some sense in your memory.”

 _What child?_ He wanted to ask her, but the woman has turned her head and walked away. The door closing behind her with a loud _CREAK!_. He pushed the covers off and stood up from the rickety bed. His bare feet withdrawing briefly from the sudden feeling of the cold wooden floor. His joints creaking in protest as he stumbled toward the open window. He stiffened at the feel of sunlight, of the feel of warmth on his skin, and looked down on his palms in utter shock.

 _How could this be! He should have been dead!_ He could still remember every detail of that fateful battle. His accursed archnemesis has revealed to his vessel a way to end his very existence and that human – _that_ Robin – has chosen it against the Exalt’s wishes. He could still feel the phantom pain of her power – _their_ power – struck his heart and the life ebbing away from him as they both perished. He was certain that it was the end for both of them – a point of no return. _Then, how?_

 _Could it be that Naga has something to do with this? Her own way of tormenting and mocking him for his failure to truly secure his victory from the future past?_ He slammed his fists on the windowsill. _That damned witch!_

“El?”

He froze. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he did not notice the door opened and someone has entered. He assumed that it would be that old crone again, but the voice was higher in pitch than he has heard from her. He turned around, only to go rigid on the spot. His throat tightening as a name spilled from his lips.

“Robin?”

The child was no more than five years of age and barely the height of half the door. She was dressed in a long-sleeved white nightdress that was a size too big for her. Her long, snow-white hair was loose; the tips reaching down past her waist. Her big, onyx-eyes reflecting off the golden rays of the sun as she looked at him imploringly.

“El!” She ran toward him in her boots and wrapped her short arms around his waist. “You’re awake!”

He stared down at her. _What abomination is this?_ His eyes looked…searched at this tiny creature that resembled his human vessel in her younger years. _This must some sort of trickery! A plan concocted by that loathsome divine dragon to scorn him._ He gritted his teeth and gripped the child’s arms. He pried her off him and forced her to look at him. “You! How dare you!” He snarled, digging his nails on the child’s arms. “Do you think you could make a fool out of me so easily, Naga? Do not make me laugh!”

“E-El!” The child cried out as she tried to wriggle out of his grasp. “It hurts!”

“Silence!” He shouted angrily. “I will not fall for your illusions! Robin is gone! You are nothing but a-“ He gasped as his head throbbed. The pain becoming unbearable in each passing second. His hands fell away from the child as he staggered back, clutching his head. The world began swirl in a haze of colors and sounds and the last thing he heard was the child’s distressed voice calling his name before everything went black.

* * *

_He is here again._

It has been a common occurrence for the royal retainer to find his liege within the confines of the Queen’s office after a day’s work – a habit the Exalt has developed since that fateful day more than three years ago. The massive room was the same as Frederick remembered – bookshelves filled with all kinds of books from tactics to politics, maps of different continents from different time periods plastered on the walls like flags, and a desk on the middle littered with scrolls and parchments that have gone unmoved since their last use. All of it remained the same even after more than three years since its owner disappeared from existence.

Frederick carefully climbed the wooden stairs leading to the upper floor of the room. The polished wood creaking under his heavy boots as he passed by the bookshelves. He is familiar to some of the books, having seen the tactician read them, but dared not spare even a glance. _His goal is his liege_ , he reminded himself, _not mourn for the past._ He found who he was looking for sitting by a small table beside a window. His liege was looking at the abandoned chess board in front of him, no doubt that it was the setting of his last game with his queen. Chrom has grown thinner compared to his body mass months ago. His eyes were sunken, barely having any good sleep with the nightmares that have kept plaguing him. The sparkle in them dulled by the months of loneliness and despair.

“Milord.” Frederick approached when the man did not move a muscle to acknowledge him. He tipped his body forward in a polite bow. “Dinner is ready. Princess Lissa is waiting for you.”

“I’m not hungry.” Chrom’s voice was quiet and weak, barely a whisper. “Tell Lissa to not wait for me.”

“But, Milord! You ate little in the morning and barely touched your food this afternoon. You will fall ill at this rate!”

Chrom waved his concerns away. “I’m fine, Frederick…I really am. I just…” He trailed off. His eyes looking distant for a moment. “Has Lucina eaten yet?”

“Yes, Her Young Highness has already eaten dinner with Princess Lucina and Prince Morgan. Sumia and Cordelia are preparing her for bed as of this moment.”

“I see…” He turned toward the window - the view overlooking the courtyard of the palace. “Call for me once she’s ready for bed. I’ll tuck her in for the night.”

Frederick took a moment to study him, hoping to find a way to get through to him. “Milord-“

Chrom seemed to know what is going on his retainer’s mind. “I’m fine, Frederick.” He repeated what he answered him before, though his voice sounded hollow and tired. “I just want to be alone.”

Frederick wanted to say more but he knew that conversation ended right there. Even if he tried, his liege will simply echo the same words again and again. Resigning himself to the same fate for years, he bowed down and bid a quiet _Good Night._ His receding footsteps echoing in the massive room that has grown cold and dark without its owner.


	2. Chapter 2

_She was standing in front of him._

Her robes burnt and tattered and callused hands gripping an ancient tome with one hand. The sky was red as blood and the wind battered them with crackling magic and the scent of blood. The battle around them raged on, but the war cries and the clash of metal and claws remained muted from where they were standing. There was a blur of blue behind the tactician, but their eyes remained fixated at each other.

He mirrored her, like a reflection on still water, yet different at the same time. She is him and he is her, but they are still different persons…different beings. Their beliefs and morals opposed each other’s – _Grima never had a need for such trivial, human things._ He could have torn her into pieces in a blink of an eye, but there was a force keeping him glued on the spot - a force he thought he has stamped out in the future past.

Then, she raised a hand. Magic, as ancient as he, crackling on her fingertips. Her mouth moved, but the words were silent – _Is that how it is?_ There was a ringing in his ears and before he could react, her magic… _their magic_ has pierced his heart.

His eyes fluttered open and he jolted to a sitting position. His hand fumbled to his chest, to where his beating heart is supposed to be. There was no wound, no blood, nor bolt of magic that pierced this flesh. _He is alive._ He stared at his hand where strands of white hair fell between his fingers. For a moment, he felt ridiculous…and revolted. _When did you ever fear death? You are a god. You are Death. You are Grima._

He gritted his teeth. “That damned vessel…”

The door creaked open and the same old woman yesterday stepped inside. His anger slowly dissipating to wariness as he turned to her. _Lillian, was it?_ She closed the door and hobbled to his bedside with one hand gripping tightly on her cane and the another precariously holding a plate.

“So, you’re finally awake. _Again_.” There was an accusing tone in her voice as she pulled out the stool next to the bed. “You collapsed and slept for two days. I told you to rest, didn’t I? You, youngsters, never listen to your elders.”

She let out a pained grunt as she sat down. Her wizened hands fumbling with her cane as she passed him the plate. “Eat.” She told him. “The men in town returned from hunting last night. They barely caught enough to feed a small town of one hundred, but it is better than nothing.”

He looked suspiciously at the plate on his hands. There are a few slices of bread and a small piece of meat the size of his fist. There are vegetables as well, but he has no idea what they are. He never has a need to feed on what these humans call food, nor his vessel when he finally possessed what was made for him. But this vessel, this body, or whatever this is, seemed to share that need when his stomach grumbled. He cautiously picked up a slice of bread and dangled it in front of him. His eyes narrowing as he inspected the food.

 _Is this poisoned?_ A small portion of the outer layer was burnt and the bread was a bit soggy. It smelled fine, but he does not trust this old woman. A few leaves of the vegetable were nibbled and the meat is half-burnt. He wondered how these humans call this food at all. He has seen more pleasant-looking food served in the Shepherds’ camp compared to these.

“I told that child not to disturb you.”

He placed the bread back on the plate. The memory of the five-year old child diverting his attention from the unsavory meal. _That child…Robin._ There was no mistaking that white hair prominent among those with Plegian blood; even the offsprings of his wretched vessel failed to inherit the color of her hair.

“She’s staying with my granddaughter and has not caused any trouble, if you are worried.” Lillian said - her eyes studying him for a moment. “Now that I have a proper look of you, you and that child are alike. Is she yours?”

 _What?_ His confusion must have been written all over his face when Lillian explained. “I meant if she is your child. You are too alike to be not kin. Perhaps, you don’t remember as well….”

Something about the sullen look in the old woman’s face that made him uncomfortable and it baffled him as to why. He never felt such…emotion before. Not when he destroyed his creator. Not when he extinguished so many lives that a human’s pitiful lifespan could count. It never mattered to him, never felt such… _nuisances_ before. He is the perfect being and has no need for imperfect emotions.

“I will prepare a warm bath for you.” Lillian gripped the edge of the table as she shakily stood up. “I will see if my son-in-law has some clothes your size. This time, make sure to rest.”

There was a sharpness in her tone that made him flinch; his head involuntarily bobbing once to appease the old woman. It was ridiculous notion - him, a god, fearing a mere mortal nearing the doors of death – but a new emotion…this _human_ emotion has made disgustingly vulnerable. She looked at him like he was a child caught stealing more than his share of food in the middle of night before shaking her head.

She padded to the door, pausing only to look back at him. “If that child looks for you, I will bring her here. She’s quite the curious little thing, that child.” He did not say anything, but simply watched as the door closed behind her back.

* * *

The bath was a little consolation to his new ire. He has experienced the better kind – his vessel rightfully pampered as the queen of Ylisse with luxuries of jasmine, rose petals, and scented candles that peasants could only dream about. Though Robin might not be one to indulge into such frivolous extravagance, she lets herself once in a while with the insistence of her husband. However, he is not in the Ylissean palace nor does he anymore reside in his vessel, he has his own body, _his own flesh_ , and he cannot really complain about it to commoners like that old woman.

He submerge down the tub, letting the warm water rise to his chin. The long strands of his white hair floating on the water like lily pads on a stagnant lake. The warmth soothed his aching body that has been bedridden for days. He felt clean, calm, and…relaxed.

He closed his eyes. _Relaxation…_ what a strange word. He never had a need to… _relax._ He has always thirst for the end of mankind and the burning of the world thereafter. But that was _before,_ back when he was still capable to achieve his true form, when he still has his powers to raze everything to the ground. Now, he has nothing. He was stripped of what he had, imprisoned in this body of weak flesh, and stuck with a younger version of his former vessel. All of it, without a doubt in his mind, his archnemesis’ doing.

He has to discover what Naga is planning and retrieve the powers the Divine Dragon King has stolen from him. His spirit might be residing in the body of a manakete, but he could not sense any trace of draconic energy that all manaketes have. Even if a part of it was stored in a dragonstone, he would still feel it. He has find to a way to return to his true form. Only then, he will exact his revenge – this time, he will secure his victory the _second time_ – and destroy everything and everyone including that daughter of hers Naga loved so much. There will be no second Naga nor any divine dragons. He will slay them all and use them to fuel his might even further – stronger that even that accursed Exalted bloodline cannot hold a candle against him. _Yes_ , he will see to it to turn the tables right before their eyes, but for now…he let out a quiet sigh as he sank further down the warm water. _Relaxation._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Villains need to relax sometimes.


End file.
